


love is in the little things

by silentlypunk



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Valentine's Day, bnha characters used because i couldn’t think of names, implied: daisuga kagehina iwaoi kuroken, knowledge of bnha is irrelevant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 13:31:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17788310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentlypunk/pseuds/silentlypunk
Summary: They don't do anything spectacular for Valentine's.But that's okay. They prefer it that way.





	love is in the little things

**bokuto**

He doesn’t understand why the little kids have to be cutting out little red hearts with their little scissors, but it’s what they’ve been told to do for the day’s arts-and-crafts activities, so there’s not much to do but to go along with it.

 

The Sunflower group, his group, are all obediently snipping away at red paper and sticking frills and buttons and whatnot onto the sides, a mindless activity. At least no one has tried to stab someone with their training scissors yet (the bad-tempered blond kid from Rose group was an absolute menace). Bokuto fiddles absent-mindedly with some paper and ends up with a messy origami heart.

 

“Sensei,” says Ochako, a cute girl with poofy brown hair and pink ribbons everywhere. “What is va-valetin day?”

 

“Valentine’s?”

 

Ochako nods. “That’s today,” she points out very helpfully, pressing a bow onto her wonky paper heart. Bokuto holds up his own wonky origami heart and smiles at them.

 

“Hey, kids, do you know what a heart means?”

 

“Ooh!!” Another girl, Momo, leans forward, eyes sparkling. “I know, I know! It’s LOVE!”

 

“What is love?” One of the boys, Shoto, looks oddly at the girls, who have all started giggling at the word “love”. “Is it food?”

 

Bokuto hides a grin behind his hand. “Shoto-kun, love is when you like someone very much. Very, very much.”

 

A head of curly green hair pops up from under the table. “Sensei, I stepped on my heart,” sobs Izuku, eyes flooding with huge teardrops. “Did I step on my love?”

 

“That is way too deep for a kid your age.” Bokuto crawls under the table to grab the trodden paper heart, dusting it off and scrambling for an easy way to describe the complicated concept of _love_ to five preschoolers. “Your heart’s okay, Izuku, you’ve still got all your love. C’mon, don’t your parents say ‘I love you’?”

 

“No,” Shoto says, still looking very confused.

 

“Yeah!” Ochako cheers. “Daddy says it all the time!”

 

“My mumma said that I can’t say it to everyone,” says Tsuyu, stacking her neat paper hearts on top of each other.

 

“Well,” Bokuto touches their paper hearts lightly, “Valentines’ Day is when you celebrate love. Your love.”

 

“Love is when those people on TV do this,” Ochako says. She leans over to wrap her arms around Tsuyu with a bright smile, pressing their cheeks together.

 

“Uh. Yeah. But but but, it’s not just about that, uh…love comes in all types…” Bokuto grins, spreading his arms wide open. “A friend of mine once said that being in love feels like _gwah!_ Like, _GWAAAHHH!!_ ” He waves his arms for extra emphasis.

 

“GWAHHH!!!” The kids all shriek, their eyes shining with excitement. “I wanna feel gwah too!!”

 

_(Hinata’s video call, shaky and stammering. “HI BOKUTO-SAN, ME AND KAGEYAMA ARE DA-DAT-DA— GWAAAHHH!!!!” He buried his face in his collar and melted to the ground, making nonsense noises at the back of his throat. “HOW DO YOU DO THIS!!!”_

 

_Kageyama appeared in the background, also a violent shade of red. “DUMBASS, THIS IS THE FIFTH TIME WE’VE DONE THIS!” He grabbed Hinata by the shoulder and locked their fingers together, looking just as awkward. “Uh - we - we’re da-dat-da-TOGETHERNOWOKBYE,” he shouted before prodding the phone screen very violently._

 

_Except they didn’t quite manage to end the call and just started squabbling, Bokuto having stuffed his fist inside his mouth to stifle his laughter._

 

_After several deep breaths, Bokuto yelled out a “CONGRATULATIONS!!”, which made them jump and turn their attention back to the phone. “Took you two long enough!”_

 

_Their expressions alone told Bokuto that their brains had short-circuited.)_

 

Bokuto snickers quietly, lost in the memory.

 

“Sensei, do you have someone you love?” Izuku asks innocently, jolting him violently back into the current situation of trying to explain what love is in a preschool context. All five kids turn to him, eyes wide with curiosity. A quick flash of intense blue gaze and messy black curls, and Bokuto smiles without meaning to, looking at the paper hearts spread across the table.

 

“Yeah,” he says, gently ruffling Izuku’s mass of green hair. “And it’s the best thing ever.”

 

Somehow their eyes grow even bigger. “The BEST thing?” Momo gasps. “Even better than cake?”

 

Bokuto laughs. “Even better than cake!”

 

Shoto nearly falls over with shock. “But nothing is better than cake,” Ochako says.

 

The other kids nod solemnly, and Bokuto has to suppress his chuckling so he doesn’t insult any of them by accident. “Do you love cake?”

 

“YES,” everyone shouts, and comes to the same realisation about 5 seconds later. “OH!!!”

 

“So today I can celebrate cake?” Ochako is nearly drooling. “Can I eat cake?”

 

“Valentine’s Day is more about loving _people_ ,” Bokuto clarifies.

 

“But I can’t eat people.” Izuku frowns. “I don’t understand.”

 

“Well then. I think Akira-sensei’s gonna do better than me at explaining what love is.”

 

-

 

Akira is still laughing at him when they go into the staffroom for their break while the kids are napping.

 

“You basically told a bunch of kids that Valentine’s Day was about cannibalism,” she chokes out while Bokuto munches grumpily on a cereal bar. “Only you, Bokuto-kun, only you…”

 

“How would I know that they didn’t realise that you can love people the same way you love food!”

 

“Well, you could have given them a better example.” Akira holds up her left hand and points meaningfully to her wedding ring.

 

_(“Bokkun, I don’t understand why you’re not wearing it on your finger,” Oikawa sighed, pulling the thinblack cord out from under his shirt collar. The light reflected sharply off a thin golden band tied to the end of the cord; Bokuto swatted his hand away and curled his fingers protectively around the ring._

 

_“Leave it, Shittykawa,” Iwaizumi grunted. “Don’t you understand the concept of choice?”_

 

 _Oikawa waved his left hand flippantly. “_ My _choice is to show off Iwa-chan’s love! I would have thought Bokkun would do the same!” Iwaizumi rolled his eyes, but Bokuto noticed the way he rubbed his own ring almost absent-mindedly, like it was a source of constant comfort._

 

_He shrugged, turning the ring this way and that to admire the way the light caught the engraved initials within, a delicate AK in tiny cursive. “Rings are uncomfortable,” he said, tucking the ring back under his shirt. “Plus it’s more convenient like this.”_

 

_“Well, whatever you guys feel comfy with, I guess.”)_

 

There is a faint buzzing noise. Akira digs out her phone from her bag, taking the call with a smile. “Hi honey,” she walks towards the window, a new spring in her step. “How are you?…Ah, of course, that sounds great…”

 

Bokuto turns towards his desk, pulling a stack of journals towards him. A worn photo frame gets knocked over in the process, and he hastily rights it.

 

_(“Bokuto-san, I don’t think this is a good idea.”_

 

_“What are you on about! This is my best idea so far!”_

 

_“…”_

 

_“Look, if I hold you around the waist like this, and then you hold onto my shoulders, it’ll be fine! It’ll look just like one of those cool dancey-jump thingies.”_

 

_“Neither of us know how to dance.”_

 

_“C’mon, just trust me on this, don’t you trust me.”_

 

_“Sometimes I don’t know why I do.”)_

 

 _Plans for the night, huh,_ Bokuto thinks, distracted as he writes comments on the kids’ entries. _I don’t suppose we’ll be doing anything special…_

 

“…alright, I’ll see you in a few hours…bye then, happy Valentine’s to you too.” Akira finishes her call and bounces back towards her seat. “Bokuto-kun, guess what?”

 

“What,” Bokuto answers, half-joking. “Did your husband buy you a pet elephant?”

 

Akira giggles. “I wish! No, he managed to find a babysitter, so we’re going out on a date for the first night in, oh, five months maybe? I’m so excited!”

 

“What the hell, I wanted to babysit Ryuzaki and you said no!”

 

“You need to enjoy your Valentines too!” Akira puffs out her cheeks at him. “And don’t pretend that you haven’t got anything planned, I saw your ten thousand open tabs on gift lists and date ideas and whatnot more than two weeks ago! ”

 

The embarrassed flush spreading across his face isn’t helping things. “We’re not - we don’t — ” Bokuto waves his hands helplessly, eyes darting around the room. “He doesn’t like to make a fuss…”

 

“I bet he likes it when you do, though. Anyway, don’t you have training today after work?”

 

“Oh, yeah.”

 

It’s tough being a national athlete. That in itself isn’t a big source of income, but Bokuto loves being on the team, even though it sometimes means training at night after hours of dealing with a bunch of rowdy 5-year-olds; even though it sometimes means an awkward juggling of out-of-country competitions and work days and holidays; even though it sometimes means having fit in interviews and photoshoots in-between a busy schedule.

 

Even though it sometimes means going home exhausted and falling into bed almost immediately without energy to spare for anything…or any _one_.

 

He still wouldn’t live his life any other way.

 

“It ends early today though, since it’s Valentine’s, the coach decided to show some mercy for once.”

 

Akira hums. “Plenty of time left to celebrate then?”

 

Bokuto smiles to himself. “Maybe.”

 

 

 

**akaashi**

More than once, whenever he’s got a little bit of free time, Akaashi finds himself staring mindlessly at his lockscreen.

 

_(“Akaaaashii. Of all the photos you could’ve chosen a better one…”_

 

_“On the contrary. The natural lighting is exceptional in this, flooding the subject with dramatic shadow effects; nautica is coming back into fashion, which makes this location especially wonderful; the subject is in action, difficult to capture but conveying brilliant amounts of energy and enthusiasm — ”_

_“Ah! You know I never understand the technical stuff! You’re not gonna get away with brilliant energy or whatever, look at this, look at the bits of seaweed and sand and ocean stuff clinging to me, how gross —”_

 

_“Well, in any case, both this phone and this picture are mine, so I can do whatever I want. Artistic license.”_

 

_“Uggghhhhh fine then I’m gonna make my lockscreen that picture of you running away from a crab.”)_

 

“That’s a great photo,” Ennoshita says, materialising beside him. “Doesn’t give you an excuse to slack off, Mr Director of Photography.”

 

“Alright Mr 2nd Assistant Director, just because you’re single and jealous —”

 

“I’m joking!” Ennoshita raises his hands in mock surrender, half-smiling. “We’re on break! I just wanted to know what you were staring at.”

 

“What else would I be staring at,” Akaashi mumbles, slipping his phone into his hoodie pocket.

 

They walk towards the vending machine for a drink, making small talk about the actors, the gossip in the backroom, the giant mess in the props studio, and then out of the blue Ennoshita asks, “So, what’s the plan for the night?”

 

Akaashi nearly chokes on his tea, taking a moment to wipe at his mouth before replying, “There’s no plan, you know I don’t like making a fuss about these things…”

 

“You don’t, yeah, but he sure does.” Ennoshita raises his eyebrows at him. “So? Any finds?”

 

This is a secret game that Akaashi likes to play. Before any holiday, or anniversary, or birthday, he will have a little hunt around the apartment to see if he can find whatever gift or surprise is in store for him. Behind the jackets, up top on the bookshelf, hidden within a pile of sports equipment. He remembers finding a photo album underneath the mattress. A new camera bag sitting innocuously under a stack of magazines. A giant banner with the words _HAPPY BDAY KEIJI_ in neon blue, camouflaged by similarly-coloured sponsorship t-shirts.

 

He’d got home early yesterday, took the advantage of having the flat to himself, and found nothing.

 

Akaashi firmly tells himself that he’s not disappointed, he’s glad that no money has been wasted on extravagant purchases, stop wailing like a spoiled child, Internal Akaashi. Be grateful you even have his love and full undivided devotion.

 

“There’s nothing I want,” he says eventually. “I’m more than happy with what we have.”

 

_(“YOU PROPOSED?!??!?!” Suga shrieked, his hands slamming onto Akaashi’s shoulders with terrifying force._

 

_“I never thought I’d have to say this, but Suga-san, please calm down.”_

 

_Daichi laughed, warm and hearty, yanking Suga off him. “You heard the man, love.”_

 

_“BUT DAICHI,” he argued, eyes shining with fervour, struggling against his ex-captain’s firm grip. “HE OBVIOUSLY COPIED ME! DIDN’T WE TELL THEM THAT WE GOT ENGAGED JUST 9 DAYS AGO —”_

 

_Akaashi lifted his ring up against the light, rubbing his thumb over the tiny calligraphic BK engraved on the smooth golden inside. “Didn’t you guys go window shopping for Christmas and decide to buy the rings right on the spot? I got these ordered way back in October.” He tucked the ring back inside his shirt, the black cord disappearing under his scarf. “An apt New Year_

 

_Daichi clapped his hand over Suga’s mouth, effectively muffling his protests, and smiled at Akaashi. “We’re happy for you,” he said sincerely, then, “Suga don’t lick me, are you literally 5 years old.”)_

 

Ennoshita fake-retches. “I don’t know how the rest of your high school team withstood this for two whole years,” he says.

 

The sharp sound of Komi’s wolf-whistle rings in his ears, a faint echo of what once was. Akaashi grimaces. “They didn’t. Each and every single one of them were bullies.”

 

Grimly, he recollects the inhumane amount of Sarukui’s wiggling eyebrows and Konoha’s teasing purrs of “ooooh, extra practice”. Komi’s stifled giggles of “heheheh indirect kissies” (which made no sense because literally everyone drank from each other’s bottles, no one gave a single fuck, so why were they like this). The nudging elbows and salacious winks followed by intense bouts of laughter. Washio, standing to one side, shaking his head at their antics but doing nothing to end Akaashi’s suffering. Onaga, helpless against his seniors, running back to his fellow first-year players.

 

And the extra practice. Too. Much. Extra. Practice. All. The. Damn. Time.

 

“That reminds me, I’m in charge of planning our next reunion. I wonder if Konoha-san will bring his girlfriend if we pester him enough.”

 

Ennoshita laughs and throws his coffee can into the bin. “So much for being bullies.”

 

-

 

_(“Oh, Akaashi. He’s still in there talking to Oikawa or something, I dunno, but you’re probably gonna have to wait a while. Not like you don’t know how he gets.”_

 

_“Alright. Thanks for telling me. Oh, and Kozume is over there, playing his game on one of the benches.”_

 

_“Of course he is.” Kuroo gave him a casual goodbye-wave, then began walking in the direction that Akaashi was pointing, whistling to himself._

 

_He turned around to see a stout older man looking curiously at him._

 

_“So this is the infamous Akaashi Keiji,” he said with a small smile. “Your name has been shouted many times at the end of practice.”_

 

_“Coach Toshinori,” Akaashi realised, quickly offering a slight bow._

 

_“That’s me. I remember seeing you play, actually. The way you picked yourself back up — and by extension, him, and by that extension the whole team — is impressive. Your trust in each other is really something, huh?”_

 

_For some reason, Akaashi felt a pleased warmth rushing up the back of his neck. “Yes, Coach.”_

 

_The gymnasium door was very loudly thrown open, and a familiar rambunctious voice yelled, “Hey hey hey, Coach Tosshi! That’s my boyfriend you’re talking to!!”)_

 

He clicks through the camera, doing a quick check of the settings and save files, preparing set folders and focus lenses. He clicks through the camera very impatiently.

 

 _Practice ends early today,_ Akaashi thinks, over and over. _In half an hour. Practice ends early today._

 

Readjusting the stand, doing one more quick check, and Akaashi’s off, walking briskly to retrieve his things in the production room, eager to leave his day’s work behind him.

 

One of the assistant gaffers is still in the room, flipping through a heavily-annotated copy of the script. “Oh, Akaashi-san,” they say, startled. “Thank you for your hard work today.”

 

“And yours,” Akaashi replies swiftly, sweeping his possessions into a messy pile and dumping everything into his bag without organisation, pulling on his jacket in the meanwhile. He’s halfway out the door when the gaffer stands up abruptly, chair screeching against the floor; he looks back at them, surprised.

 

The gaffer hesitates, then takes two boxes from the table and holds them towards him, one plain and one fancy. “These are for you,” they say. “One’s from the camera team, the other one is…er…from the female lead…”

 

The last bit was something that Akaashi had dreaded hearing the entire day.

 

Film business is messy, to say the least. Everyone is attractive, or at least perceived by most to be. Rumours of who slept with who to gain credit and fame. All sorts of celebrities submitting themselves to shameful acts, begging like dogs for those with more influence, desperation driving them into their self-imposed corners. It was, frankly, the most disgusting part of his job; Ennoshita would agree.

 

Half of those accusations and stories rose up around Christmas, or summer, or right now. Valentine’s Day.

 

“Is there a note in the box?” The gaffer peaks into it and nods. “Read it for me.”

 

The gaffer pulls out a slip of paper and scans it quickly, face twisting in distaste. “Holy shit, I never thought these were real, but there’s even a lip print…Do you want…?” They hold the note out to Akaashi, who steps back immediately, his mouth twitching momentarily into a disgusted leer before it reverts back to his usual impassive expression.

 

“I don’t want to know what it says. Rip it into legible pieces and pile the scraps in her dressing room. As for the box, you can do whatever you like with it. Be discreet.”

 

The gaffer chews their lip anxiously. “Akaashi-san…”

 

“I’m not above a harsh rebuke.” He smiles to himself, a quick curve that disappears as quickly as it appeared. “I’m a taken man, after all. Whatever they throw at me, I can handle it.”

 

“…If you say so.”

 

Akaashi takes the plain box from them and nods in farewell. “Have a nice night’s rest. I’ll be sure to thank the camera team tomorrow.”

 

“You too, Akaashi-san. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

 

 

 

**koutarou**

He walks out the gymnasium doors, waves goodbye to some of the guys, turns around to shout at Kuroo to hurry up, turns back around to spot Akaashi leaning against one of the pillars, tapping idly at his phone.

 

A thrill runs down his spine, and he stands taller, a different kind of smile pulling on his mouth.

 

“Actually, Kuroo,” Bokuto shouts again, not looking away from the familiar silhouette. “You can take your sweet time! I’m leaving now!”

 

A faint “fuck you too!” echoes from inside; Bokuto grins and makes his way towards Akaashi.

 

Only when he is about ten steps away does he notice that Akaashi is completely immersed in his phone, with earphones in, so he backtracks and sneaks behind him, glad that for once he hadn’t screamed his name the instant he saw him.

 

Bokuto stands behind the pillar, behind Akaashi, and proceeds to pull out his earphones — which elicits a faint gasp of annoyance — and clap his hands over Akaashi’s eyes in one fluid motion. “Guess whoooo,” he sings, pitching his voice comedically. “Here’s a hint, it’s the love of your lifeee!”

 

“The last time I checked, nanohana doesn’t sound like an overexcited child.”

 

“ _Hey._ ”

 

Akaashi’s head turns slightly, and Bokuto can see the uplifted corner of his mouth. “That was a joke, Bokuto-san.”

 

“It was a bad joke.” Bokuto removes his hands and darts in front of Akaashi with a downturned pout; Akaashi pays no attention to him, instead focusing on tucking his phone and earphones into his bag, zipping up Bokuto’s jacket so he doesn’t freeze to death. “Make up for it, Akaashi!”

 

Akaashi lifts a hand to curl around Bokuto’s collar, pulling him in close, breath ghosting over his lips. “Will this do?”

 

Bokuto happily closes the gap between them, placing his hands on Akaashi’s waist and humming happily when he feels fingers stroke gently down his shoulder blades. Akaashi’s lips are chapped.

 

“So this is why I was so rudely dismissed,” Kuroo’s taunt comes floating somewhere from Bokuto’s right, so he points his middle finger in the general direction of his voice. “Aha! And again! How could you do this to me!”

 

Pulling his mouth away from Akaashi’s, Bokuto turns to Kuroo and sticks his tongue out at him in response to his smirk. “Go home to Kenma, you stupid cat!”

 

“I would, but there’s two dumb owls in my way…”

 

Akaashi tucks his hand into the crook of Bokuto’s elbow, petulant frown firmly in place. “Bokuto-san, the world’s ugliest cat is trying to ruin our Valentine’s, I don’t like him, can we leave already.”

 

“Akaashi, that is one of the saltier things you’ve said to me in front of Bokuto. I’m mildly impressed.” Kuroo throws up his hands in mock surrender. “See you guys. Happy Valentine’s.”

 

Just before they head out of earshot, they hear Kuroo yell, “DON’T BREAK YOUR BED TONIGHT!”

 

“Oh my god.” Akaashi claps a hand to his face, mortified. “Did he really have to yell that.”

 

“Well, I mean, it’s a fair warning — owowowoww sharp elbows, very sharp elbows, Akaashi! Nooo!! Keiji Keiji stop that, wait, no fair OW —”

 

Bokuto shakes off the onslaught of jabs and sprints down the road, laughing madly, and Akaashi chases behind him, eyes shining bright under the street lamps.

 

-

 

“Do you still want to go for a run?” Akaashi finishes lacing up his shoes and looks at Bokuto, who is currently pulling on a pair of discarded shorts in the middle of the hallway. “You already had volleyball practice.”

 

Confused golden eyes blink at him. “So?” The shorts now resting neatly on his hips, Bokuto moves on to socks, mismatched in pattern, hopping around the hallway whilst yanking them on. Akaashi watches him bemusedly. “I have very high stamina!”

 

“And yet putting on clothing leaves you panting,” Akaashi points out. Bokuto leans against the wall and huffs at him.

 

“I have bad balance!”

 

Akaashi unlocks their front door and steps outside, cold breath wafting in front of him in the moonlight. “Remember to lock the door.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll catch up to you, so just go!”

 

Bokuto watches as Akaashi disappears down the flight of stairs, then immediately grabs his duffel bag and rushes into their bathroom.

 

Although he hadn’t prepared anything for the day, he’d read various articles in the weeks leading up to Valentines (just in case inspiration struck), and each had proclaimed the extreme soothing effects and sense of contentment that a nice bath could bring. So Bokuto had stopped by a couple shops on his way to practice to buy some scented candles, a few pretty bath bombs, a skin-exfoliating (?) bath/shower puffy thing (?) and, on impulse, a small bag of fake petals.

 

He arranges the candles around the bath and puts the bath bombs and the shower puff in a little basket next to the sink, on top of its original contents (several unopened bars of gift soap and a little bottle of handwash).Then he quickly upends the bag of petals, placing some around the bath and making a vague trail to the bathtub. Finally, he places a box of matches gingerly next to the candles.

 

Bokuto catches his own reflection and grins at it, brimming with anticipation.

 

Then he sprints out of the flat, following their usual route, spurring Akaashi into a mini race; focused on exerting what’s left of their energy in order to fully enjoy the rest of the night.

 

-

 

The rest of the night goes fairly normal. 

 

They manage to squeeze themselves into the tub together, legs all tangled up and water sloshing out the sides. Bokuto drops a glittery bath bomb in, much to Akaashi’s chagrin, and ends up sneezing literal clouds of gold dust, much to Akaashi’s amusement. In the midst of a mild splash war, water lands on four out of five candles and nearly plunges them into darkness. They wrap each other up in big fluffy towels and try their best to scrub as much static as they can into each other’s hair, giggling at the tufty results.

 

They try cooking together, an activity that on previous attempts had ended with half-burnt meals and singed fingers. While chopping vegetables, Akaashi catches more than one plate from leaping into destruction. The meat is nicely cooked but there is too much of it, and they end up having to cook a second round of rice in the cooker just to have something to finish it off with. Bokuto pulls on the rubber gloves and washes up, passing plates and utensils to Akaashi who is armed with several cloths, whirling everything back into their places and wiping down messy surfaces. 

 

They curl up under the kotatsu and watch a movie together, a random film that just happened to be showing on one of the TV channels. The dog dies in it. They cry when the dog dies, Akaashi insisting that he was sniffling because of “nose allergies, Bokuto-san, the floor is just too dusty”, Bokuto with big fat tears dripping down his face without any qualms or excuses, buried into Akaashi’s neck.

 

They stumble into the bedroom together, fingers pulling desperately at fabric, panting mouths pressed tight against each other. Moonlight streams in from the window, leaving bare skin illuminated by nothing but its silvery glow. Their touches are gentle but wanting, tight but soothing, overflowing with adoration, truly finding the difference in _fucking_ and _making love_. Long fingers dig into sturdy shoulders with the same intensity as the broad palms flattened over his waist, and they whisper each other’s names somewhere in between a gasp and a moan and a prayer. _Keijikeijikeiji, oh, come here, stay close,_ and _hahh, Koutarou, hold me please oh I’m —_

 

The hands on the bedside clock quietly tick past 12, unnoticed under the euphony of harsh breathing and hungry whimpers.

 

-

 

“Akaashi. Hey, Akaashi.”

 

“Yes, Bokuto-san.”

 

“Hey, hey, Keiji…”

 

“I’m here, Koutarou.”

 

Bokuto chews his lip anxiously, prodding intently at a hickey on Akaashi’s chest, and blurts out, “Do you think we should properly celebrate Valentine’s?”

“That hurts, Bokuto-san. Please stop poking your own handiwork.” Akaashi blinks at him, slow and tired, like a cat. “Are you discontented with how we spent Valentine’s?”

 

“No way!” The prodding intensifies. “But, you know, that’s the, you know, I just…it’s the classic thing to do, so…”

 

Akaashi wraps his long fingers around Bokuto’s wrist, pulling his hand firmly away from his chest. “Since when did you ever go the classic route?”

 

“MY GRADUATION CONFESSION UNDER THE SAKURA WAS VERY CLASSIC AND VERY GOOD, SHUT UP.”

 

“It wasn’t that good. You wouldn’t stop crying.”

 

Bokuto kicks his legs under the duvet in protest, making frustrated sounds in the back of his throat. “Can you really blame me?? I was so sure that you were gonna hate me and leave me forever and —”

 

Akaashi pulls the duvet over his head and laughs and _laughs_ like a fucking hyena; Bokuto clamps his mouth shut, cheeks burning, waiting for him to resurface. He can feel a gentle tug on the cord around his neck.

 

“I don’t think we need a heavily commercialised day to specially enjoy or prove our love,” Akaashi says, soft as a feather, eyes downcast and relaxed. He brings Bokuto’s ring to his lips and gives it a gentle kiss. Not to be outdone, Bokuto yanks on Akaashi’s ring as well, twining the cords together as he moves in to kiss him, to kiss his little setter, his ex-vice-captain, his lovely Keiji. He can feel Akaashi smile against his mouth, their fingers tangled together in the liminal space between them.

 

Right before Bokuto’s eyelids droop shut, heavy with a contented tiredness, Akaashi says as casually as possible: “By the way, I booked a table at that fancy meat restaurant you like for Saturday night, so you better make sure your tux still fits you.”

 

Bokuto shoots upright. “YOU CAN’T SAY THINGS LIKE THAT WITHOUT WARNING!” he yells, immediately wide awake. “HOW COME? HOW COME? DID SOMETHING HAPPEN? DID YOU GET A PROMOTION?? KEIJI I’M SO PROUD —”

 

“Nothing of the sort,” Akaashi cuts in, amused. He pats the bed next to him, and Bokuto collapses back down with a loud thump, nestling in close. “I just wanted to.”

 

“Oho?” Bokuto’s mouth stretches into a wicked grin; Akaashi raises his eyebrows at him. “Keiji Keiji Keiji, did you just want an excuse to see me in that tux?”

 

“Yes,” Akaashi says, as if it’s a matter of fact. Bokuto blinks at him. “I splurge on an expensive meal, we stuff ourselves with good food and wine, then we come home and you fuck me senseless in that tux. No excuses. Great Saturday night. Boom. Done.”

 

Bokuto turns his head to groan into the pillow, blushing up a storm. Akaashi skates his fingers down the line of his back. “Goodnight, Koutarou.”

 

 

 

**keiji**

A delivery comes when Bokuto is still at practice.

 

Saturday afternoon, Akaashi is doing some leisurely editing on his computer, when the doorbell rings and in comes this man with a massive 100x50x70cm box.

 

“Sorry for the late delivery,” says the man. “Backload from Valentine’s this year is massive, really messed us up.”

 

“That’s alright,” Akaashi says slowly. “Thank you for your work.”

 

It’s a teddy bear. Big, fluffy, squishy, holding a huge heart, Akaashi’s seen advertisements everywhere, _Customise your message!_ in giant bus posters and on his way home from work.

 

There’s a delicate stencil of two owls nestling together, then under it in scrawly threaded cursive, _ALL THE LOVE FROM KOU TO KEIJI!!!!!!!_ Also inside the box is a little message card, with Bokuto’s rounded hand-writing (Akaashi could recognise it anywhere); it reads _Thank you for everything, Love you x infinity Akaaaashi, from your Bokuto-san_.

 

Akaashi sits in the hallway, staring at the door, hugging the bear, and waits patiently for Bokuto to come home.

**Author's Note:**

> i am of the opinion that vday shouldn't be a big deal, but even if it is, great, as long as you're happy and in love, do it your way any day
> 
> i'm on instagram @silentlypunk_ , come show some support (/^w^)/
> 
> thank you so much for reading this, please leave kudos/comments as you see fit!


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